


Safe

by xxx_cat_xxx



Series: Whumping Tony Stark [12]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Couch Cuddles, Delirium, Fever, Fever Dreams, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Platonic Cuddling, Science Bros, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, There's A Tag For That, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 21:08:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17553245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxx_cat_xxx/pseuds/xxx_cat_xxx
Summary: “S'cuse me,” Tony manages through a shuddering inhale, bolting upright and taking off towards the toilet. A moment later, they can hear him vomiting noisily through the cardbox walls.“The sound of barfing. Ruining your breakfast like nothing else does,” Clint comments, but there's worry edged in the crease above his brow.orTony, Bruce and Clint are stuck in a “shithole of a safehouse”. Then Tony gets sick, and Clint gets a memorable photograph.





	Safe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taylor_tut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/gifts).



“Got up on the wrong side of the bed today?” Clint teases when he takes in Tony’s slumped figure at the wooden stillage they euphemistically call “table”. The whole safehouse is a joke, a last-minute solution SHIELD has ordered them to stay at after a surprise attack during a team training in the woods.

“Didn’t actually get into bed at all,” Tony rebuts grumpily, turning over his spoon in the gunk that is supposed to be cornflakes. “No chance of sleeping with you snoring at 150 decibel.”

“Can’t have been me. I know from trustworthy sources that I sleep as soundless as an angel.”

“Trustworthy sources”, Tony snorts. “What, Natasha? Of course, our little assassin is the epitome of honesty and openness…”

It stings more than it was probably supposed to, and they spend the remainder of the breakfast in grumpy silence, that is, until Bruce comes in and frowns at them.

“What’s going on now?” he asks, only slightly resembling an exasperated parent scolding his kids.

Tony has apparently given up on trying to eat his cereal soup, resting his forehead on one palm instead and staring at the table. Clint huffs out a breath.

“He’s in a mooooood,” he pronounces.

“The only thing I am - “ Tony starts, then cuts himself off with an audible gulp.

“S’cuse me,” he manages through a shuddering inhale, bolting upright and taking off towards the toilet. A moment later, they can hear him vomiting noisily through the cardbox walls.

“The sound of barfing. Ruining your breakfast like nothing else does,” Clint comments, but there’s worry edged in the crease above his brow.

“I’ll go check on him,” Bruce says, setting down his untouched cup of tea on the counter.

“Tony? You still alive in there?” he asks after knocking on the locked bathroom door a couple of times.

“Barely,” comes the dramatic reply after a minute. He hears a flush, a shuffling on the floor, and then the door opens, revealing Tony’s pale and sweaty face.

“You alright?” Bruce asks, looking him up and down with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, my stomach doesn’t really like that poisonous stuff Clint insists on calling emergency supplies. Just need to, y’ know, get it up…”

“Uh-huh,” Bruce nods, then his hand goes up to cup Tony’s forehead with a speed that wouldn’t seem possible for him. “Well, no, that’s not it,” he assesses. “You’re definitely running warm.”

“I’m hot, Brucie,” Tony grins at him, then his expression turns into a grimace. He swallows heavily and clasps a hand over his lips.

“Oh god,” Bruce hears him moan before he turns back to the toilet and continues retching miserably. “Trapped in a fucking shack in the middle of nowhere and now _that._ ”

Bruce closes the door with a sigh, knowing that the man is alright as long as he is still complaning.

Tony returns to the kitchen after a while on shaky legs and in a piss-poor mood, still cradling his stomach and adamently refusing the water and pills Bruce tries to make him swallow.

The ensuing discussion on whether or not he may join them in today’s patrol quickly turns to whether or not Bruce should stay with him in the hut, but Clint sides with Tony on the latter (”He’s a big boy, Bruce, and if I leave you alone with him being in this kind of mood, I risk coming back to the house broken into ruins.”)

When they leave, Tony is already curled up on the couch and doesn’t even come to see them off, proving to Bruce that he must be feeling much worse than he lets on. He shuts the door with a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach.

When Bruce and Clint return long after dark, Tony is stretched out on the couch, sleeping at last. He looks tense and ill, the distinct flush on his cheeks and the dark shadows under his eyes making him appear at least a decade older.

The medicines are still lying untouched on the table, but there’s a half-empty glass of water and a trash can on the ground next to the couch. It looks like it was cleaned rather hastily, the smell of sickness still hanging thickly in the air, causing Clint to ruffle his nose.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he calls out, while Bruce takes off his jacket and then accidently knocks over the unstable coat-tree near the door, which hits the ground with a loud bang.

“What-" Tony wakes with a start, flinching and getting up halfway before his eyes focus on his teammates. “Oh, it’s you.”

He slumps back down, grimacing and rubbing the back of his hand over his face exhaustedly.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks, making his way through the cramped room after setting the coat-tree back up.

“I’m better,” Tony says, sitting up slowly this time and blinking hard against the dim ceiling lights, _headache_ written boldly all over his face.

“Well…” Bruce says, not quite buying it. “What’s your temperature at?”

“I don’t know. This shithole of a safehouse doesn’t actually feature a thermometer.”

“How many times have you thrown up?”

“God, you ever heard of the right to privacy?” Tony scowls. “You’re gonna ask about my trips to the bathroom next?”

“Tony…”

“I don’t remember. Enough that I don’t wanna eat anything in the next few centuries. Happy now?”

“Not exactly,” Bruce sighs. “You’ve gotten worse, haven’t you?”

“I am _fine_ , mom.”

“Sure,” Clint comments from where he’s started to rattle with the pots in the kitchen. “You know that movie, 28 days later? You’d easily pass for one of the characters, and I’m not talking about the human ones.“

Tony doesn’t give a comeback, just rests his head back against the worn-out couch and closes his eyes with a moan, and that’s when Bruce knows it’s serious.

They eat quietly. Tony has turned a telling shade of green at the mention of food and buried his head back into the couch cushions, so they let him be. After dinner, Bruce tries to read while Clint busies himself carving small figures out of pieces of wood he found in the forest. He coaxes Tony into finishing the glass of water before refilling it and heading off to bed.

He awakes to someone shaking him at the shoulder, talking in a hushed and slightly panicked voice.

“Hmm?” he mouthes eloquently.

“Bruce, we gotta go. Fast, be quiet.”

“What?” Bruce blinks the sleep away and sits up. Tony is supporting himself on the frame of the bed, swaying lightly. It looks almost comical, but the fear on the other man’s face is real. “Hey, Tony, what’s going on?”

“They are coming,” Tony pleads. “We gotta leave, now. Wake Clint, then get going. I’ll cover you from the windows as long as I can.”

“Who’s coming, Tony?”

“I’ve seen them. I’ve seen them on the cameras. Jarvis said-”

“There are no cameras here, pal. And when do you think you talked to Jarvis?”

“I… Bruce, I’m serious, we need to leave,” the other man urges. He is panting as if he’s just finished a marathon, his shirt is drenched in sweat, and his eyes are darting frantically across the room, scanning for threats.

“Okay,” Bruce reassures him in a soothing voice, pretending to play along. He gets up slowly and takes Tony’s wrist into his hand, confirming a racing pulse. “What about you wait in the living room while I get the others?”

“Hmm,” Tony nods in agreement and sways a little harder. Then his eyes widen. “Pepper, we need to get Pepper out of here-"

“Pepper’s safe, Tony. Everyone is.” Bruce slings his arm around the engineer’s shoulder and supports him back to the living room couch, then sits him down, looking at him intensely. “Do you hear me? Everyone is safe, okay? But you’re sick.”

“I… I don’t know. Can’t trust…”

“You can trust me, alright?” Bruce chuckles, a bit of sadness swining along. “Never thought I’d say that to anyone again.”

He is not sure whether Tony is listening. The other man is focusing on something behind Bruce’s back now, eyes glazed over with fever.

“Stay put,” Bruce directs, hoping that the engineer will obey for once. “I’ll bring something to get you rehydrated and cool you down a bit.”

A glass of water that thankfully stays down and a couple of cold washclothes later, Tony seems to be coming back to himself a little bit more.

“You’re - you’re trying to put me on ice? Like g-god-damn Steve Rogers?” he presses out between shattering teeth.

“Hey, you’re back,” Bruce sighs with relief.

“Never l-left, as far as I know. Wish I had. Still in f-fucking Arkansas on a boy scouts outing, or whatever we’re playing here.” Tony shivers harder as Bruce presses the washcloth back against his forehead. “Hey, what d’you think you’re doing here?”

“You were out of it for a bit. Sleepwalking, delirious babbling, the full package.”

“Oh.” If Tony is even the slightest bit embarassed, he manages to hide it masterfully. “D-Did I at least write some obscenities on Barton’s face with a marker while I was at it?”

Bruce snorts. “You wouldn’t be alive if you had.”

“Speaking of l-living, I sort of wish I wasn’t.” He groans as another chill runs through his body. “This is _awful_.”

“No wonder with a fever like that,” Bruce replies. He wrings turns over the cloth and starts dabbing at Tony's neck.

“But we’re safe here, aren’t we?” Tony adds after a beat, a tick too inconspicuous for Bruce not to catch the shadow of fear that’s left lingering in his eyes.

“Yeah, we are,” Bruce reassures. “As safe as we can ever be.” He hesitates for a moment, trying to find the best strategy for getting Tony to agree to Bruce staying with him. The man looks dead exhausted, but Bruce has known him for too long to believe even for a second that he’d go to sleep voluntarily while knowing that someone is looking after him.

“Mind if I sit here for a moment and read?” he asks innocently. “Have a hard time going back to sleep in the middle of the night.”

“Sure, no problem,” Tony waves absent-mindedly. “Believe it or not, the couch is actually more comfy than it looks like.”

He is still trembling lightly and spreading heat like a radiator when Bruce drapes a thin blanket over both of them. His head lands on Bruce’s shoulder and it’s only a couple of minutes until his breaths become deep and regular. Bruce turns over a page, trying not to jostle him, and vows silently to keep the bad dreams away for the rest of the night.

When Clint enters the living room in the morning, Tony’s head is resting on Bruce’s thighs, his legs are draped over the armrest and he looks almost, almost peaceful. Bruce’s head is tipped back against the couch, glasses askew, one arm with the book still caught between his fingers resting on Tony’s back. He is snoring ever so slightly. 

Clint tiptoes back into the bedroom to fetch his phone, then takes a photo with a widening grin on his face. He is about to send it to the Avengers’ group chat when he thinks better of it and saves it to his personal drive. _As a reminder of happier times_ , he names it, knowing that he is going to need it one day.

**Author's Note:**

> I am working on something long and heavy, so I took a break and wrote something short and happy. The setting is partly stolen from [ this amazing fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10487259) by Ranni, which I urge all of you to read, because it's brilliant and leagues above mine and and she is one of the best writers in the whole damn fandom. 
> 
> Comments are always, always appreciated :) Find me on [ tumblr](https://xxx-cat-xxx.tumblr.com/).


End file.
